


Trade Goods

by RosiePaw



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-31
Updated: 2009-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosiePaw/pseuds/RosiePaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by siegeofangel's <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/306894.html">Currency</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	Trade Goods

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by siegeofangel's [Currency](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/306894.html)

Rodney’s always been at a disadvantage when it comes to bartering. For one thing, the only goods he has to trade are the goods he really wants to keep for himself – good coffee, good chocolate, any kind of beer that’s not the pissy American kind. When it comes to accumulating trade goods just for the sake of having them _as_ trade goods, he can’t be bothered. Too impatient. Too clueless as to what kind of goods might appeal to others, even if they don’t appeal to him personally. Too damn busy saving the city and harassing minions and doing important scientist things to have time to even think about it.

But not too busy to make plans for watching movies with Sheppard. So when Rodney hears that one of the new Marines – Peterson? Patterson? – has a DVD he knows Sheppard’s been wanting to see, he grimly digs out about twice as much chocolate as he’s actually planning to offer and hunts her down.

It’s therefore a complete shock when Patterson (or is it Peterson?) refuses the chocolate and says, with a cheeky smile, "I’d rather take it in time."

God, is she coming on to him? The idea is… not too horrifying. She’s pretty, seems reasonably bright – not everyone in the military is an absolute idiot, consider Sheppard, for example – she’s only, uh, well, actually she’s got to be at least 15 years younger than he is. Almost young enough to be his daughter and what the hell is he thinking? What the hell is _she_ thinking?

Apparently not the same thing he’s thinking. "I heard you traded someone a IOU on your time in exchange for a haircut? Like that. I want an IOU for an hour."

"Half an hour," Rodney replies on automatic. He’s still trying to figure out what’s going on – the haircut trade was a fluke.

"Done," she says, and hands him a piece of paper and a pencil. He writes, signs, hands it over, grabs the DVD, gets out of there.

And promptly forgets about the whole weird time-IOU thing because he’s too busy thinking about, well, of course about saving the city and harassing minions and so on, but also about how Sheppard’s going to smile when he finds out Rodney’s got the DVD. A real smile, not a make-nice-with-the-prospective-trade-partners smile. Sheppard’s real smiles involve his mouth, his eyes – his whole face. Even his goofy hair and the tilt of his lean body get in on the act.

Rodney tries not to think too hard about why he enjoys thinking about making Sheppard smile. They’re friends, right? Friends spend time together, they make each other smile, those are just friendly things to do. Even Rodney, who hasn’t had many friends throughout his life, even Rodney knows that.

***

A week later, Rodney realizes he’s going through his coffee stash faster than he planned. He’s going to run short before the Daedalus makes its next delivery. Actually, he’s going to run short any day now. Faced with a decision between chocolate and coffee, well, there are _wants_ and there are _needs_. And besides, he’s still got the chocolate he was more-or-less willing to trade to Pete… Pat… Oh, whatever the hell her name was. The point is, he’s still got the chocolate.

So he takes the chocolate and goes in search of Thibodeau, who’s got pretty good taste in coffee for a botanist. Except that Thibodeau doesn’t want chocolate either. Thibodeau wants a time-IOU. In fact, Thibodeau already has the IOU written out, all Rodney has to do is sign. Which he does. He really needs that coffee.

After this, Rodney starts paying more attention. He even starts trading for things he doesn’t quite need, at least not right away, just to see what he’ll be asked for in exchange. Sure enough, everyone wants time-IOUs. No one will take anything else from him. And that’s weird too, because apparently it’s _just_ him. He asks Zelenka, who looks curious, and Sheppard, who looks completely blank. No one’s asked them for time-IOUs.

Okay, maybe it’s just that everyone on Atlantis has finally realized that Rodney’s time really _is_ more valuable than anyone else’s. That’s kind of gratifying. After all, hasn’t he been telling them that for years? Except that’s what also makes it weird. Why would everyone suddenly start agreeing? All of them at once?

And another weird thing? None of the time-IOUs are being turned in. No one has actually come to him with an IOU and a request for him to spend time at any particular task. It’s as if people were stockpiling them. But why?

***

It’s a malfunctioning piece of electronics that gives Rodney the answer late one evening. Some idiot’s repair attempt has messed up the wiring so that all the current collected from various sections of the circuit is flowing _in_ to one particular point with no way to flow _out_ again. The charge builds higher and higher until the circuit blows.

And then, right then, Rodney’s mind makes a sort of sideways jump. It jumps to how the time-IOU he exchanged for the haircut wasn’t turned in by the woman who actually gave him the haircut. No, it changed hands, it _flowed_ through Atlantis’ barter economy like current through a circuit. Rodney finds himself imagining a pile of time-IOUs building higher and higher as they flow into hands that aren’t letting any of them flow out again. Hands belonging to someone who wants a claim on a large piece of Rodney’s time.

It’s creepy. He hasn’t been keeping track of the damn IOUs – how many of them are out there by now? A dozen? Two dozen? Mostly for half-hours, but occasionally he’s had to promise an entire hour. Someone in Atlantis _already_ has a claim on something like half a day of Rodney’s time, and they haven’t come forward _yet_, which means they’re trying to accumulate more.

Very creepy. It’s like having a stalker.

Maybe he ought to tell Sheppard. As military commander, Sheppard’s the closest thing Atlantis has to a police chief. Although, it was Sheppard who turned in the first IOU, the one for the haircut. Is it Sheppard who’s stalking Rodney’s time now? Rodney feels suddenly chilled.

But no, that wouldn’t make any sense. Sheppard doesn’t need to accumulate a claim on Rodney’s time. He’s already got it. If Sheppard wants Rodney to do something unpleasant but necessary, like spend more time in unarmed combat training, well, he’s Rodney’s team leader. All he’s got to do is order Rodney. And if Sheppard wants Rodney to do something fun and interesting, like modify Sheppard’s favourite puddle jumper, then all he’s got to do is ask.

And then of course he’s got to _persuade_ Rodney to follow the order or request or whatever, because Rodney’s not easy, not with his time or in any other way. But Sheppard’s good at persuasion. Rodney finds Sheppard more persuasive than anyone he’s ever known, and he’s not sure exactly why. Something about the man’s smile and his not-quite-hidden intelligence, maybe even about the way his body slouches and his stupid hair doesn’t. However Sheppard’s persuasion skills work, they don’t look to start failing anytime soon.

Rodney has to admit, if only to himself, that between ordering, asking and persuading, there’s pretty much nothing Sheppard couldn’t get him to do. And if even Rodney knows that, surely Sheppard must know too? Even though Rodney would never actually tell him?

***

By the time Rodney’s finished the repair job and gotten something to eat and some sleep, he’s starting to wonder if the whole time-stalker idea isn’t a bit paranoid, even for him. Hell, if someone had come to him and asked him outright to trade half a day of his time on a specific repair job in return for coffee or chocolate or beer, Rodney would just be trying to figure out how much he could get. It’s the idea of an _unknown_ person having a claim on his time for _unknown_ reasons that feels creepy to him. He feels as if he’s unintentionally given a piece of himself away, made himself vulnerable.

Tell Sheppard? No, Sheppard would laugh at him. So Rodney doesn’t tell Sheppard, but he also tries not to trade out any more time-IOUs.

The problem is, no one will take anything else from him. He’s cut out of the barter system. He has to ration his supplies, sew his own buttons back on. And eventually, he needs another haircut. Well, fine, he’ll do it himself. If he messes it up too badly, it’ll grow back, right? After all, it’s his brain that’s important, not his hair.

He takes his shirt off – no point in getting it full of hair – and starts by trimming the too-long strands that tickle the back of his neck, working by feel. It’s not too bad, he’s _pretty_ sure he’s cutting on a horizontal line, he’s gotten about halfway ‘round when the door chimes.

Sheppard. With beer. Good beer. "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Am I interrupting something?"

"Uh, no, I’m just, uh, cutting my hair."

"You’re cutting your hair. Yourself." Sheppard seems puzzled.

 

So Rodney ends up having to explain everything, about not having anything to trade for a haircut because no one will take anything from him except time-IOUs, which he doesn’t want to hand out anymore because no one ever hands them in so he suspects that someone is stockpiling them, _stalking_ Rodney’s time, and that thought is just so creepy that…

"Okay, okay, I got it. Yeah, creepy." Sheppard’s not laughing. If anything, he looks a bit worried. Maybe even a lot worried. And for some reason, unsure of himself. "Do you, uh, do you want me to cut your hair for you? Not that I’ve ever done anything like this before. But."

"But at least you’ll be able to see what you’re doing. Here." Rodney hands him the scissors, waits expectantly.

Sheppard circles him, studying him as if they were on a mission and Rodney’s hair was unknown, potentially hostile terrain. His gaze makes Rodney uncomfortably aware of the discarded shirt. Which is silly. What with all the crazy stuff that happens on missions, Sheppard’s already seen more of Rodney’s skin than he’s seeing right now.

Sheppard steps closer, raises the scissors. Rodney’s pretty sure he can feel Sheppard’s breath on his bare skin. But there’ve been times on missions when Sheppard’s stood closer to Rodney than he’s standing right now, one hand brushing the back of Rodney’s neck as he holds the strands of hair away from the skin to cut. There’s no reason for Rodney’s quarters to suddenly feel so warm, except that to be honest? Being this close to Sheppard usually _does_ make Rodney feel unexpectedly warm.

Snip. Snip. And suddenly Sheppard steps away, lays the scissors down on the desk next to the bottles of beer. "I can’t do this. I’ll be right back." And he’s gone.

What the hell just happened?

Okay, maybe Sheppard’s gone to get someone else with more barbering experience. Maybe he’s going to order them or ask them or persuade them to accept something from Rodney besides time-IOUs. Sheppard could probably make that happen.

But when Sheppard comes back, he’s alone, carrying a cardboard box, looks like a shoebox. It rustles as he hands it to Rodney. "I’m sorry," he says, not looking at Rodney, as if he were… ashamed?

Rodney opens the box. Pieces of paper, folded up. A dozen? Two dozen? Rodney doesn’t have to unfold them to know what they are.

Sheppard’s talking, still not looking at Rodney. "I put the word around that whatever anyone would usually have gotten from you for their goods or services, I’d trade twice that much for an IOU on your time instead."

Rodney blurts out the first question that comes to mind. "How’d you determine what the person would usually have gotten?"

"Took their word on it. Yeah, a few people probably ripped me off. But I got the feeling that other people were going easy on me, so it all more-or-less worked out."

"They were probably going easy on you because they thought you’d gone insane. Why the hell were you trading away perfectly good chocolate and beer at twice the going rate just to get a claim on my time? You should already know you don’t have to."

Rodney stops, appalled at what he’s said. Sheppard’s finally looking, staring in fact, apparently as appalled as Rodney. It’s hard to talk, hell, hard to breath, but Rodney pushes on.

"Sheppard, what were you planning to do with all this time?"

"I thought when I had enough saved up, I could take you away, uh, we could go somewhere. Maybe to the mainland, spend a day on a beach, maybe camp overnight."

"You were trading away chocolate and beer at double rates so that we could spend a day on a beach and camp overnight?"

"Maybe not either of those, if you didn’t want to. Just to go somewhere else."

"Sheppard, we go on missions. We spend a _lot_ of time ‘somewhere else.’"

Sheppard’s mouth quirks, not a smile but perhaps the very start of one. "Not like that. Somewhere else alone, without having to worry about getting killed." The quirk disappears again. "I thought that if I had the IOUs, that would give me leverage to pry you away from work, do something just for fun for a change. I thought you’d enjoy the surprise. I never thought you’d feel stalked. I never wanted that."

"No," Rodney snaps, "You wanted to trade, no, _give_ things away at insane rates in order to get me alone for a significant chunk of time."

Sheppard’s not-looking at Rodney again. He’s not exactly _moving_ towards the door, it’s more as if his body keeps twitching in that direction while his feet stay in the same place. Rodney takes a step, not quite placing himself between Sheppard and the door, buying himself time to analyze the observational data he’s collected.

Rodney _observed_ his own reactions in that moment when Sheppard stood so close and touched the back of his neck, added the data to the collection he’s accumulated over the years. Sheppard’s words, Sheppard’s obvious discomfort, that’s all more data, and suddenly the data are shifting, forming new connections, presenting themselves in a new pattern, and bingo! Rodney’s got a hypothesis. Like any other hypothesis, it needs to be tested. And right now, when Sheppard seems to feel as if he has something to make up to Rodney, right now is likely the best chance Rodney’s ever going to get to run that test.

"How far had you gotten with saving up?"

Not the question Sheppard was expecting. "Uh, about halfway?"

Rodney steps over to the desk with the scissors and the beer, puts the shoebox down, gets a blank piece of paper and a pen. Tears the paper in two, writes something on each piece, signs his name on only one piece. Folds one piece and hands it to Sheppard, along with the pen.

"Don’t open that yet. I’d like to propose a trade. If you’re not interested, fine, we can drop it, okay?" Sheppard nods.

"Okay, this is what I’m offering." Rodney displays the piece of paper he’s holding. Sheppard reads it, cocks an eyebrow. The quirk is back, beginning to grow into a smile, a smile that Rodney’s Sheppard-experienced eye can tell might be real.

"And that’s what I’m asking for." Rodney points at the folded-up piece of paper that Sheppard, that John is holding. He watches John’s face as John unfolds it, reads it, takes a breath. And then, yes. Yes. Definitely real. Thank god, John is smiling his real smile and he’s signing the piece of paper and tossing the pen back to the desk and holding out the paper to Rodney to trade for Rodney’s piece of paper. Except that instead of taking hold of Rodney’s piece, he takes hold of Rodney’s wrist, steps just a bit closer, leans forward and.

Soft. John’s lips are soft, and gentle and sweet. Until they’re not. Until John’s hand slides up Rodney’s arm to grasp his biceps and Rodney’s mouth opens to John’s inquisitive tongue and John’s other hand reaches around to splay across Rodney’s broad, shirtless back and pull him close. Until Rodney’s hands find their way to John’s narrow hips and pull him closer yet. Until one of John’s legs slips in between Rodney’s, and by now Rodney’s sucking on John’s tongue and softness has given way to demand.

When they finally have to break for air, John asks, voice husky and as soft as his lips had been, "Bed?"

Rodney nods, face flushed, eyes dark.

They leave the two pieces of paper forgotten on the floor. By chance, both have fallen written side up:

"All previously issued time-IOUs now redeemable at twice face value. Signed: Rodney McKay."

And:

"One (1) kiss. Signed: John Sheppard."


End file.
